


Stop Shaking

by wintercas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, Human Castiel, Hurt Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, Protective Dean Winchester, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-01
Updated: 2014-05-01
Packaged: 2018-01-21 13:48:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1552646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintercas/pseuds/wintercas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After nearly having his heart clawed out during a hunt, Castiel has to deal with a different kind of heartache.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stop Shaking

            “Stop shaking, Cas. You’ll make it worse.”

            “Dean. I think we need to look at our options here.”

            Cas keeps his eyes on Dean, watches him clench his jaw as he wraps blanket after blanket around Cas. 

            “Dean.”

            “I heard you, Sam. Doc Leman will be here in two hours.”

            “We may not have two hours, Dean.”

            Cas can’t quite remember how he ended up sitting on the edge of the motel bed. Dean kneels in front of him.

            “Cas. Look at me.”

            He  _has_  been looking at Dean, hasn’t he?

            Dean places a hand on his forehead.

            “His eyes are glassy,” Sam says from very far away.

            “Yeah, he’s going into shock. Start the car.”

 

            He opens his eyes to a grey ceiling.

            The room is dark, humming with quiet noise.

            Dean is slouched in the chair by the bed, clutching Cas’ hand.

            Cas gently squeezes his fingers.

            “Cas?” Dean says, sitting up and rubbing his eyes with his free hand. “Hey, hey, you’re awake.”

            He pulls his chair closer and gently brushes stray hair off Cas’ forehead.

            “How are you feeling?”

            “Water,” Cas croaks.

            “Right, of course,” Dean says, chair squealing as he stands up.

 

            “I’m sorry you had to take me to the hospital,” Cas murmurs.

            Dean pauses the movie.

            They’re sitting on the big leather couch in the bunker. Dean insisted on wrapping Cas in every blanket he could find, and Cas can feel beads of sweat rolling down his back.

            “Why are you sorry for that?”

            Cas picks fuzz off the topmost blanket. “I know you’ve got that warrant out for your arrest and going to hospitals is risky and—”

            “Stop.” Dean places his hands over Cas’ knees, covered in blankets. “Cas. I should have taken you sooner. You could have died.” He pulls away and rubs his eyes with one hand.

            “Dean, don’t blame—”

            “Yeah, well it’s kind of hard not to, since I was the reason that werewolf was still alive. I shoulda killed it at the warehouse,” he snaps.

            “You weren’t sure—”

            “Yeah, well I should have been.”

            Cas throws off a few blankets and sits up straighter, trying not to wince at the pain in his chest. “Let me speak.”

            Dean doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t interrupt either.

            “It wasn’t your fault. It was the werewolf that tried to claw through my chest, not you. Stop blaming yourself.”

            Dean lowers his head a little. Cas puts a hand on his shoulder. “If you’re so logical about that, why’d you apologize for going to the hospital?”

            “Feeling apologetic and feeling guilt are two different things.”

            Dean mumbles something about him sounding like a fortune cookie and asks if they can watch the damn movie already.

 

            “Can I shower yet?”

            “No,” Dean says, not looking up from his newspaper.

            Cas would cross his arms, but his chest still hurts.

            After becoming human, Cas developed a particular fondness for cold showers in the morning.

            “The doctor said we could—”

            “Not risking it.”

            “Please. It’s been a week. The doctor said 48 hours would be fine.”

 

            Dean grumbles as he leans on the bathroom counter.

            Cas sticks his head out of the shower.

            “I think I can handle this, Dean. You needn’t—”

            “I know!” Cas sticks his head back under the cold stream and sighs.

            After Cas shuts the water off and pulls back the curtain, he finds Dean holding out a giant white towel, pointedly looking at the ceiling, face red.

            “Took you long enough,” Dean grumbles.

            “Thank you, Dean,” Cas says, taking the towel and wrapping it around his waist. Dean throws another towel over Cas’ head and begins drying his hair in silence.

            Dean tosses the towel to the floor and scratches the back of his neck. “There’s uh, clean clothes right there. I’ll be right outside.”

            Cas ends up calling for Dean to help him wiggle the tee shirt over his head. Dean grins as he feeds his arms through the sleeves. “Dean, I think you’ve made a mistake,” Cas says, looking down at the sagging sweatpants and Led Zeppelin shirt, “these are your clothes.”

            “Yeah, I need to do laundry. This is what we had. Unless you want to wear Sam’s stuff. Or Kevin’s.”

 

            Dean smiles a lot more that day.

            They end up on the couch again, watching some movie about a man with amnesia being hunted by the government.

            Cas stretches his feet onto Dean’s lap.

            “I don’t get it.”

            “It’ll make sense pretty soon.”

            Cas sighs and settles his head back on the pillow. Dean absently begins rubbing Cas’ feet, not looking away from the nonstop action.

            “You want me to put in a different movie?”

            “No. I’ll try harder to understand.”

            Dean chuckles a little.

 

            Sam and Kevin get back from their hunt the following day.

            “You guys are gross,” Kevin says as he walks past the couch with his duffel.

            Dean clenches his jaw and forces the mug of tea into Cas’ hands, spilling some on Cas’ blanket. “Shut up, Kevin.”

            “I’m just saying, it’s kind of nauseating when you’re being all motherly.”

            Sam appears just then, toting the other duffel and a pharmacy bag. “Hey. I got Cas’ pills and stuff.”

            “Great. I’m going to take a walk,” Dean says.

            The front door of the bunker slams.

            “I really appreciate Dean’s help,” Cas says, sipping on his tea and burning his tongue. “I’m not a very good patient, I’m afraid. Being human is…”

            He can’t quite speak because his throat has closed up, so he shakes his head and sips his tea.

            Sam drops his duffel and sits down next to Cas, emptying the pharmacy bag. “Let’s get you some pain meds, huh?”

 

            “Dean.”

            “Dammit, Cas, I’m trying to sleep!”

            Cas can see him pinch the bridge of his nose in the semidarkness.

            “Do you just come in my room whenever?”

            “Dean, I think my wound is infected.”

            Dean sits up. “I looked at it today and it didn’t look infected.”

            “It feels hot.”

            “You’re probably just sweaty, dude. The bunker bedrooms get hot in the summer. Take your shirt off and go back to bed.”

            “I can’t.”

            Dean flops back onto his pillows. “Why not?”

            “I can’t sleep.”

            “Did you try?”

            “Yes.”

            “Try again.”

            “It won’t work.”

            “Go back to bed, Cas.”

 

            The movie was less confusing the second time around.

            “I thought I told you to go back to bed.”

            Cas pauses the movie and looks over his shoulder. “I think I sleep better on the couch.”

            Dean uncrosses his arms and sits heavily next to him, tugging a blanket over himself in the big, cool room. “How do you figure?”

            “Well the air conditioning still works in here, unlike the bedrooms. And I always slept better on the couch, with a movie and with you stroking my hair—”

            “I don’t stroke your hair!”

            “Touching my hair.”

            Dean sighs heavily. “If I do it, you gonna go to sleep?”

            “Yeah.”

            Dean rubs his eyes before throwing his arm over the back of the sofa and beckoning. “Fine, come here.”

            Cas scoots into the crook of Dean’s shoulder and Dean tucks blankets around them and Cas is half asleep before the movie even starts back up again.

            He wakes up alone in his bed, sticky with sweat, and scared it was just a dream.

 

            Dean is almost sullen that day.

            “Dean.”

            “What?”

            “I’m sorry I woke you up last night.”

            “Yeah, Cas, whatever,” Dean says, not looking up from the gun he’s cleaning.

            After Dean’s bad mood, Cas is surprised to see him appear in the living room again the next night.

            Dean mumbles something about Cas getting enough sleep, despite it ruining his own neck, and they fall asleep tangled together, Dean’s fingers in Cas’ hair.

 

            Cas has been cooped up in the bunker for two weeks.

            “I’m going for a walk.”

            “Okay,” Sam says, “just don’t get lost.”

            “You want company?” Dean asks, jumping too his feet. It didn’t seem like a question, but Cas didn’t mind.

            They find a path through woods behind the bunker.

            “You warm enough?”

            “Yes, thank you, Dean.”

            “It’s just kind of chilly in the shade.”

            “I’m warm.”

 

            They come across a stream in the woods.

            Cas sits on the bench next to the bridge, patting the space beside him.

            “Are you tired? We can head back.”

            “I am a little tired, but let’s just sit. Please.”

            Dean hesitates before sitting next to him.

            “It’s very beautiful back here,” Cas says, looking out over the stream.

            “Cas…”

            Cas turns back to Dean and their faces are very close. Cas had seen this expression before.

            “I could have lost you,” he whispers, brushing Cas’ hair off his forehead.

            “I’m right here,” Cas says, and he can hardly breathe.

            Dean nods and licks his lips and leans a little closer, close enough that Cas’ inhale catches Dean’s exhale.

            “I’m not going anywhere,” Cas says, and Dean nods a little more, bumping their noses together.

            Their lips finally,  _finally_  meet, and it’s better than cold showers and clean sheets and hot coffee and Dean presses softly forward and pulls away with all of Castiel’s breath and clarity.

            “Dean.”

            “Mm?”

            “Thank you.”

            Dean pulls away, thumb still stroking Cas’ cheekbone. “For what?”

            “For helping me. Thank you.”

            Dean grins, and kisses him again. 


End file.
